The Mysterious Trenchcoat Society
by ruerox11
Summary: Or, the story of how one Captain Jack Harkness tricked the Doctor, Castiel, and Sherlock Holmes into meeting for drinks, aliens, and maybe a little group therapy. But if anyone asks, they're just teaching Cas (and possibly Sherlock) how to be human, and bonding over their fabulous coats. Superwholock. Chapter Three: Cases, group texts, and Harry Potter.
1. Chapter 1

**Basically, this is the story of the Doctor, Cas, Jack, and Sherlock, and when they met, and how they became friends over a love of being awesome and wearing trenchcoats. **

**Yeah.**

**In terms of timelines (though they are consistently wibbly-wobbly) we have:**

**The Tenth Doctor and Martha (Series 3, post 3.3 Gridlock)**

**Castiel, Dean, and Sam (Season 5, post Changing Channels)**

**Sherlock and John (Season 2, pre-Reichenbach)**

**Jack, Gwen, and Ianto (Doctor Who Series 4) [I literally have no concept of Torchwood canon, as I do not watch the show, so they're going to be the best DW versions of themselves :)]**

**In Terms Of Ships:**

**Unrequited/one-sided Ten/Martha,**

**Might stray into Destiel. Depends on how I'm feeling and my feedback from readers,**

**Johnlock if you've got your slash glasses on,**

**Jack/Ianto cuz they're just too cute.**

**Also, this is sort of AUish as it screws with timelines. Martha gets to meet Jack now rather than during Utopia.**

**I'd like to dedicate this to my wonderful friend and unofficial beta who singlehandedly got me into Sherlock, DW, and Supernatural within the course of three months and inspired me to keep writing this weird, crackish stuff for the amusement of strangers. S, you're the Doctor to my Captain Jack, and my best nerd friend, and I suppose I'll have to forgive you for getting to the good fandoms before I do, because that's just how we work, isn't it?**

**On with the show. Allons-y!**

.

In the abandoned factory outside Chelsea, the lone trenchcoated man glances furtively down the empty corridor. Running his fingers through his messy hair, he took off at a jog down the hallway, his footfall making minimal noise.

Pausing at the first door he came to, he tested its handle quickly before slowly pushing it open, surveying the room for any signs of life.

Nothing.

He used the same process for the next several doors until coming to one that appeared to be locked. Reaching into the inside pocket of his dark brown coat, he retrieved a small silver tube with some sort of rounded blue glass at the end. Pointing it at the door handle, it let out a high-pitched electronic noise before the _click_ of the door unlocking reached the man's ears. As before, he slowly swung the door open and peered inside…

Only to come face to face with another trenchcoated man.

Both dashingly dressed trenchcoated men jumped back in shock at meeting another person in such a run-down place. They stared at one another suspiciously.

Finally, the shorter man with the startling blue eyes broke the tense silence.

"You're not human." His accent was American, his voice deep and gravelly. The other man raised one high-arching eyebrow.

"Neither are you." His precise British accent stood out against the blue eyed man's scratchy US drawl.

They peered at each other in silence for a while.

"Angel?"

"Time Lord?"

Both answered with a simultaneous "Yeah."

The British man held out a hand, giving the other a toothy grin. "I'm the Doctor."

"Castiel," the angel replied, shaking the preferred hand briskly. "Are you here about the spirit?"

"Spirit?" the Doctor asked, brow wrinkling in confusion.

"Yes," Castiel nodded slowly, as if he was unsure that the Doctor was intelligent enough to handle conversation about the supernatural. "I was nearby, attempting to contact friends of mine, when I felt a malicious presence in this area. I was led here, but I have yet to find the spirit."

"And what would you do if you found it?" the Doctor asked, almost afraid of the answer.

Castiel looked at him blankly. "Kill it." He took in the Doctor's darkened expression. "Why? Is this not what you would do?"

The Doctor regarded him somewhat more coldly than before. "No. I'm the Doctor. I don't murder things without giving them a chance."

"I would not call it murder," Castiel said, eyes narrowing. "If you only knew what-"

But the Doctor only heard up to _you_ before the rumbling started.

Instinctively, both non-humans looked around quickly, ready to run at any moment. Trying to locate the source of the noise, the Doctor's head whipped to his left, the ground shaking beneath his feet. Only years of less-than-impressive TARDIS landings kept him on his feet.

Castiel grabbed hold of the wall, blue eyes flitting back and forth. "_What is happening?_" He had to shout to be heard over the ruckus.

Suddenly, the sounds of fast-approaching footsteps rang out in the hallway. Castiel craned his neck from his precarious position to see yet _another_ trenchcoated man sprinting down the passage in their direction.

Eyes widening upon seeing them, he cried, "GogoGO!" and barreled in the direction of the exit.

Castiel decided it might be wise to follow suit.

The Doctor obviously felt the same way, as he was pelting full-throttle for the doors.

The third trenchcoated man, who an observant watcher might notice to be in his thirties, with a steady job working for a secret branch of the government and a string of unusual and unsteady relationships, shoved the door open and looked back to make sure the other two were following just as the building exploded.

"HIT THE DECK!" Captain Jack Harkness yelled, but there was no need. Castiel reached out and latched on to both Jack's shoulder and the Doctor's bony elbow and transported them away.

.

The Doctor shuddered as his feet hit the ground. Though it was not painful, the angels' form of travel was uncomfortable when sudden and sent a tremor through his dual hearts.

He looked to see Castiel waiting impatiently for an explanation from Jack, who was leaning on his knees and panting. Apparently he had run a good deal further than Castiel and the Doctor.

Jack attempted to catch his breath and looked up at the other two expectant men. "Nestene Consciousness," he managed, as if that would explain anything to these two strangers.

"Ah," the one with the really great hair said. "I'm guessing it didn't cooperate?"

Jack shook his head, amazed at the stranger's extraterrestrial knowledge. "I gave it a way out, but it seemed intent on world domination."

"Who isn't?" the other, blue eyed, stranger sighed knowingly.

Jack had to agree.

"You're Torchwood," the first man, the one in the pinstriped brown suit, observed. "But you're different. You didn't kill it on sight or try to take it home and dissect it."

Jack stiffened. Working for Torchwood had its perks, but they had _such_ a bad rep. "That's not how I learned to do things. I had… a better teacher."

The man seems to find this interesting. "And who might that be?"

_Cuz that's not suspicious at all_, Jack thought darkly. "Who's asking?"

"I'm a friend, Jack," the handsome stranger assured him, but it didn't make him feel any better because _he's_ _pretty sure he never introduced himself._

Castiel clears his throat, feeling awkward. "This… Consciousness… you speak of… it is a spirit?"

Now they both look at him in complete confusion.

"What's this with you and spirits, mate?" the Doctor asked concernedly. "It wasn't a ghost, it was an alien."

"An… alien."

"A Nestene Consciousness from the planet Polymos… beings made of pure psychic energy, able to possess and control plastic because of its similar atomic make up?" the Doctor rambled off, sounding as usual like he'd swallowed some sort of intergalactic science dictionary.

Castiel still looks mystified.

"I… don't think that's his department," Jack hazarded.

"No," Castiel answered blankly. "I have no knowledge of these _psychic beings._" His mouth formed the words like he was unsure of their existence.

There was a silence.

"But," Castiel added, "a, uh, _friend_," again, like he wasn't positive this was the correct word, "Who was once psychic. Perhaps this is related?"

"_Was once_ psychic?" the Doctor asked, interested.

"Indeed. But these abilities vanished once he ceased to ingest demon blood."

Apparently that was something humans didn't hear often, Castiel discovered. The other two stared at Cas like he had grown a second head.

"… I think you two should come back to my ship," the Doctor suggested. "We have a lot to talk about."

.

When they got back to the TARDIS, there was already someone there.

The Doctor stopped, unsure of how to continue, when he noticed the tall, dark-haired man examining his box. Castiel, who hadn't realized the Doctor had stopped walking, plowed right into his back and jolted the skinny man forward a few feet, the scuffle breaking the mysterious stranger out of his thoughts.

Cas remembered the human's feelings about 'personal space' and respectfully took a few steps away from the Doctor, eyeing the man to make sure he wasn't angry. Dean had problems when Castiel was too "in his face".

The stranger looked over at them, blue eyes flitting back and forth, taking everything in. The Doctor noted how quickly the man observed them, and recognized a fellow genius.

"It's a 1950's police telephone box," he stated blankly. "Not a real one, as there are clear differences in the slope of the roof and the shape of the windows. It seems to have just _appeared_ here, as there are no signs of it being transported by any kind of vehicle. No tire tracks, no signs of heavy lifting," The man examined the dirt again, almost with disgust, "And it wasn't here yesterday. In fact, it hasn't been here more than an hour. The question is, why would anyone, even a person as…" He searched for a less obtuse word than what was obviously on his mind, "_Obtuse_ as yourself, bother bringing a telephone box out here, in the middle of _nothing?_ It doesn't add up," he finished curtly, as if this whole affair annoyed him.

"And that bothers you," the Doctor said, amused. "Sherlock Holmes, I believe."

The pale man glared. "Who's asking?"

Now the Doctor laughed. "Look, Jack, I've found you a friend!"

Both men glared.

"I don't have _friends_," Sherlock Holmes spat. "And you haven't answered my question."

The Doctor studied him. "It really does bug you," he stated, "to not have all the answers. Lucky for you, I'm happy to give them. Disappears here, reappears there."

"What?"

"You heard me. It's not just a box, Mr. Holmes," the Doctor informed, enunciating the detective's name particularly clearly. "It's a TARDIS, _my_ TARDIS."

He paused to give them a toothy grin. "Want to see her? It'll change your life."

.

Sherlock, as it turned out, was rather shocked.

The world's only consulting detective could do no more than stare at the TARDIS's warm orange and blue interior, mouth hanging open.

"But…" he could be heard muttering under his breath, "But-but… physics… atomic displacement… this is impossible…"

Castiel was respectfully interested.

"Oh," he concluded to the air around him, "It's bigger on the inside."

The Doctor smiled to himself. _I love it when they say that._

Captain Jack stood in the doorway as the Doctor bounded up the ramp toward the console. "You coming?" the Doctor looked back to him expectantly.

Jack was busy absorbing the TARDIS interior with his eyes, like a drowning man finally reaching land. He gently ran a hand up the door, greeting the old girl again for the first time in a long time. He seemed hesitant to actually step over the threshold into the TARDIS, like he'd be kicked out for trying.

"Jack?" his old friend asked, "… you alright?"

The immortal man looked up, eyes full of pain. "I just… thought I'd never..." he tried. Swallowing, he decided on, "No."

The Doctor nodded. "Castiel?"

The angel's eyes immediately flashed to the Doctor.

"Can you take Sherlock home? We're going to have to postpone that chat." He looked back to Jack in the doorway. "The Captain and I have some catching up to do."

Cas nodded. "I will return in order to leave you with a means of contacting me. I am interesting in knowing more of these… psychic beings."

He touched Sherlock's shoulder and they disappeared.

The Doctor's eyes went straight back to Jack, who swallowed nervously.

"So, Torchwood."

"It's a _long_ story."

"We've got time."

"So we do."

.

_3 Days Later_

The Winchesters were cleaning their guns when Cas' cell rang.

Both men stared as the angel fished in his trenchcoat pocket for the small silver flip phone and pressed the green talk button.

"This is Castiel." The room was silent for a moment as he listened to the person on the other end.

Dean watched Cas's eyebrows narrow pensively as the angel nodded. "I will be there immediately."

"So…" Sam started as Cas ended the call and stood up from his perch on the bed. "Who was that?"

"A… colleague," Castiel answered finally. "He requires my assistance in clearing up a small issue involving a…" He thought back to what the Doctor had called the presence in the abandoned factory. "A _Consciousness._"

Sam and Dean stared blankly.

"It is just a small matter. I will return shortly."

"Wait, Cas! Ca-" Dean found himself calling out to the rush of displaced air and the beat of wings as he realized his friend was gone.

"Son of a bitch," Dean growled. Sam just looked confused.

"Since when does Cas have friends besides us?"

"Colleague," he reminded his brother.

"Okay, so since when does Cas have _colleagues_ besides us? Last I checked, we were the only people he knew."

"I don't know, man, maybe he meets other people when he's flying around doing important angel shit! I mean, we can't be the _only_ people he knows," Dean splutters, suddenly feeling very overprotective of his angel.

Sam eyed Dean suspiciously. "All I'm saying is, that was _weird._"

"Sure, sure," Dean grumbled with an eye roll.

Sam finished reassembling his gun and wondered when exactly Dean got so defensive of Cas.

.

Sherlock was in his mind palace when his phone buzzed.

He swiped away his information on the impala (the deer and the car) and moved on to the next dictionary entry (_impalatable). _

im·pal·at·a·ble. _Adjective. Not palatable; unpleasant to the taste. Or, disagreeable or unacceptable; obnoxious: impalatable behavior._

_I wonder if John thinks I'm impalatable._

"Sherlock?"

im·pale. _Verb (when used with object). To fasten, stick, or fix upon a sharpened stake or the like. To pierce with a sharpened stake thrust up through the body, as for torture or punishment. To fix upon, or pierce through with, anything pointed. To make helpless as if pierced through._

_Helpless. The look on John's face when the sniper aimed his gun at Sherlock's chest. When John, stupid, stupid, self-sacrificing John fixed him with that sadsadsad look of imsorrysherlock shownmyhandsherlock can'tlethimdothatsherlock and Sherlock knows helplessness. He knows torture and punishment and to be fixed upon and he knows impaled._

_John's impaled himself into Sherlock's heart where no one else could._

"_Sherlock!"_

The genius tore himself out of his mind palace with disgust to see John standing over the couch with Sherlock's phone in his hand.

"You've got a text," he proclaimed, as if Sherlock couldn't see that from the lit-up screen. Sherlock grunted and went to roll over, but then John said that he didn't know who it was from.

Well.

That was new.

The only people who ever texted Sherlock were John, Lestrade, and Mycroft. It obviously wasn't John, and he knows who "_Greg_" and 'the Queen' are by now.

So.

Definitely someone new.

He throws out a hand to accept the phone from John, to his friend's surprise. As he _slide_s_ to unlock_ he notices that the number is blocked.

Interesting.

The mystery message is fairly simple. Like a note to a close friend, it reads:

_Been a while! How're you for drinks tonight, Ye Olde Taverne on 5__th__? See you at 8._

_(Could be dangerous. Come anyway.) ;)_

_JH_

Upon looking at the clock, he realized it was 7:48. _Cutting it a little close_, he admonished. And was that a _winky face? Honestly._

Nevertheless, he was interested. He'd gotten over his bit of 'culture shock' with the TARDIS (stupid name, by the way, who would call an alien spaceship that's _bigger on the inside_ a TARDIS?) and now he was ready to learn more about the mysterious Doctor and whoever _Castiel_ was that managed to just _zap him home without his permission._

"John," he declared, "I'm going out."

John blinked once, stunned. "Er… sorry?"

"I said I'm going out. Do I need to repeat myself _again_, John? It's hardly rocket science," Sherlock snapped, then felt bad at John's hurt puppy dog eyes and _oh god would you stop that already you look like a kicked hedgehog._

He sighed.

"I'll be back. Don't know when. Have to go meet some people," he finished shortly.

"Um, alright," John said. "Glad you're… getting yourself some friends. Or something."

He met John's eyes as he threw his coat on and made an exasperated face. "Definitely _or something_."

John raised an eyebrow.

"Don't do anything stupid like _worry_," Sherlock demanded. "Everything's fine, goodbye, John."

He swept out the door, trenchcoat flaring, hoping it looked at least a little dramatic.

.

**Very sorry, don't know where that bit of Sherlock!angst came from. This thing's writing itself.**

**OH! If anyone's here from my other stories: I HAVE NOT ABANDONED YOU! I had the next chapter of Fate all ready to go and then **_**my computer hard drive died spontaneously and nothing was backed up SO I LOST EVERYTHING.**_** I'm working on writing everything over again, but for now I'm just getting this weird multifandom monster of a thing out of my system.**

**So! Leave a review, if you will, I quite love feedback! Feedback is inspiration! **


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock reached the tavern at eight oh three (and forty-six seconds). Stepping inside, he noted old-fashioned décor and a rather rustic environment in the dimly-lit, one-room bar. There were two older men, probably in their late sixties, retired fishermen, one with a wife and at least three grandchildren and the other with two-no, three cats, and-

_Stop,_ he reminded his brain. _You don't have to deduce _everyone.

That wasn't what "normal people" would do, apparently.

Normal people were so _boring_.

He made his way to a table, quite out of the way of any signs of life, and waited. The bartender looked over and held up a glass questioningly, and Sherlock shook his head with a slight, annoyed twitch.

The bartender shrugged and looked to the seat next to Sherlock, repeating the same motion to Castiel, who was quietly sitting in the chair as if he'd been there all night.

Sherlock tried not to show his surprise, but he couldn't help the small start he gave in Castiel's direction, blue eyes widening fractionally. The man in the tan trenchcoat shook his head at the bartender, staring in an unnerving way until the man was creeped out and turned his back on them. Sherlock nodded to the other man.

"Castiel."

"Hello, Sherlock," Cas stated openly, staring at him like he was an interesting specimen under a microscope _which was just not fair because only _he_ was allowed to do that!_ "Are you here about the consciousness?"

"I-" For once, the detective found himself at a loss for words. "I don't know anything about this _consciousness_ that you are referring to. I merely came here for answers."

"Answers?" Castiel questioned with a head tilt.

"About that man, that- that box! He called it his TARDIS, whatever that is, but it was _bigger on the inside!_" Sherlock explained vehemently.

Castiel merely nodded. The consulting detective was baffled.

"Don't-wha- don't you want to know what it _is?_ Doesn't it interest you at all?" Sherlock asked, dumbfounded.

"Oh, I know what it is," the angel replied.

"_What?_"

"It's a TARDIS."

Sherlock groaned and let his head fall against the wall behind him with a _bang_. _Literalists._

"I meant, do you know what-"

"Time And Relative Dimension In Space. TARDIS." Both men looked to see the Doctor sit down with a gusty sigh.

Sherlock waited for answers expectantly while Castiel pulled a Glenn Close on the Doctor.

"It's a time machine. Weeeeell, a time-and-space machine. _Weeeeell_, that's not strictly true, she's not really a machine at all. See, inside the TARDIS is a living organism, sort of like the TARDIS's soul, or heart, and it's chock full of vortex- can you _stop_ that?" he demanded of Cas, who was still Glenn Close-ing. "Or just _blink_, or something? That's just…"

"Disturbing?" Sherlock offered.

"_Distracting_," the Doctor filled in. "It's… distracting."

"I am… sorry if I have offended you," Castiel apologized worriedly. "I am… not well-versed in human etiquette."

"It's alright, mate," the Doctor said cheerily, patting him on the shoulder. "Everyone makes mistakes now and then."

The angel looked down at his shoulder and back up at the Time Lord with a puzzled expression. "Thank you…" he trailed off, reaching out and patting the Doctor's shoulder in return, obviously completely unsure of why he was doing it but clearly figuring it was more 'human etiquette'.

The Doctor and Sherlock exchanged glances, the former running a hand through his hair, like a nervous tic, while murmuring, "You ain't kidding, huh?"

"I'm sorry?" Cas asked, confused.

"Er…" the Doctor started, "Well, that," he made the shoulder-patting motion again, "Is what you do to… comfort someone, I guess. Like, if Sherlock here made a mistake about something and was embarrassed, I'd do this," again with the shoulder pat, "To let him know it was okay, he doesn't need to feel… er, at fault."

Sherlock shot the Doctor an acidic glare and the Time Lord quickly removed his hand from the touchy human's shoulder. Castiel was… sort of following.

"I… think I understand. Are there any other situations in which one would use this… motion?" The angel's blue eyes were concentrated fiercely on the Doctor as if he could absorb information from the alien's head through sheer willpower.

Which, who knows, might have been one of his angel-mojo powers.

"Well…" the Doctor replied, sitting back in his chair, "Someone's upset, crying, frustrated, er… well, it goes for a lot of things. Mostly it just means 'it's okay'."

"So when you did it to me…" Cas began slowly, but the Doctor cut him off.

"I was just sort of telling you that it's okay you didn't understand human etiquette, because you just don't know any better."

"I see," Castiel answered eventually. "One gesture can mean many things."

A new voice came from behind them. "Don't I know it."

The three trenchcoated men turned to see Captain Jack Harkness announcing his presence with a smirk. He plopped down in a chair, next to the Doctor and across from Cas.

"We were never properly introduced," he turned to the angel, sticking his hand in Cas' direction with an over-the-top wink and a devilish smirk. "Captain Jack Harkness."

The Doctor rolled his eyes.

Castiel merely stared at the proffered hand enough to make Jack decently uncomfortable. Eventually, he looked up at the Doctor with a question in his eyes.

"This is another common human gesture?"

The Doctor blinked, once, before hastily answering, "Uh, yeah. When you meet someone, you shake their hand. Like this." He offered his hand to Jack, who shook it heartily.

"So I tell them my name… and shake their hand."

"Yeah, that's right," the Doctor replied encouragingly. "And you can say something like 'nice to meet you' as well. And you should try to make eye contact… but not too much," he added hurriedly. "Humans blink a lot. About fifteen times a minute, actually. So it is, er, a bit noticeable when you just… stare like that."

"I see," Cas responded thoughtfully. He turned back to Jack and stuck out his hand. "My name is Castiel."

The ex-Time Agent shook it and grinned. Cas' eyes flitted to the Doctor unsurely and back to Jack. He was missing something, wasn't he? There was something else he was supposed to say. _What was it?_

Suddenly he remembered. "It is…nice to meet…you?" he stated questioningly, looking back to the Doctor with a question in his eye. The Time Lord nodded encouragingly.

"Well, not that this isn't _completely_ heartwarming and adorable," Sherlock finally interrupted, unable to contain his impatience any longer, "But I'd like answers." He fixed them all with the Blue-Eyed-_Do-Not-Question-Me-Lest-Ye-Die_-Stare-of-Punishment-And-Death. "You promised _him,_" a nod in Castiel's direction, "A _chat_. So hurry up and chat."

The Doctor looked miffed. "Have a heart, Sherlock. We're just trying to do Castiel here a favor." He shifted in his seat, looking for a more comfortable position that couldn't be found in these rickety chairs. "If you want answers, of course I'll give them to you. What do you want to know?"

"Why is it bigger on the inside?" Sherlock demanded immediately.

The alien tilted his head from side to side, as one does when they have water sloshing around in their ears. "Weeeeell… putting it the most easily, it's basically another dimension in there."

"That's impossible."

The Doctor raised an impossibly curving eyebrow. "My people did some impossible things."

"Who are your people?"

The Doctor's face morphs into something that is cold and sad, haunted and blank. "Were."

Their table grows quiet, but Sherlock would not be put off. "Who _were_ your people, then?"

Jack, who had previously been simultaneously checking out Sherlock and Castiel, shot the detective a glare for being insensitive.

"The Time Lords," came the soft answer, but it wasn't the Doctor that gave it. Sherlock's gaze switches immediately to Jack, who continues, "From the planet Gallifrey."

The Doctor wouldn't meet anyone's eyes. Jack suddenly feels defensive of the man he's been trying not to hate since his return three days prior. "They were a noble race. Strong, powerful, brilliant. Like him."

"They are ancient," Castiel added helpfully. "Not like the angels, but archaic all the same."

"They were lost," Jack finished. "A long time ago. He's the last one."

"What happened?" Sherlock asked interestedly.

The Captain glared. "You're supposed to say _I'm sorry."_

Cas frowned. "But he had nothing to do with it."

"It's…" Jack struggled to explain. "I don't know why we say it, exactly. It just lets the person know you're sorry for their loss, even if you weren't involved. That you sympathize, you know?"

"I see," Cas said again, obviously not seeing at all. Jack sighed.

"We'll get there. Anyway, guys, I totally did _not_ bring you here for an angst-fest, so let's get some drinks and loosen up, alright?"

The response was unenthusiastic. The best he got was an 'I _knew_ it was you!' sort of look from Sherlock, who'd mostly gone back to hiding in the corner.

"Doc, come on! Lighten up!" He shook the Doctor's shoulder a little, trying to get him out of his blue funk. "We're supposed to have fun, here!"

"I don't understand," Cas interrupted in a low rumble. "I thought you said this was about the Consciousness?"

"And you told me Castiel needed help with a… spirit problem," the Doctor chimed in, talking for the first time since Gallifrey was mentioned.

Both men looked at Sherlock.

The detective shrugged. "He didn't tell _me_ anything. I was just curious."

The Doctor groaned. "Jack, you rotten liar."

Jack held up both hands defensively. "Look, I'm sorry. There was no other way you guys would come here."

Now all three grew suspicious.

"Why did you want us together?" Sherlock asked sharply, eyes flitting around the room as if he expected a SWAT team to come swinging in the windows to take him away.

Under the powerful stares of three dangerous men, Jack's nonchalance wilted noticeably.

"I don't know… really, I don't." He looked to each of them in turn. "It's just… I don't believe in coincidences."

"And?" the Doctor asked, neither accusatory nor understanding.

"And four impossible trenchcoated men meeting in the same impossible place? It's like the universe was shoving us together."

Cas seemed thoughtful. "It's true. My father's world does, as you say, work in mysterious ways."

"So maybe it's supposed to happen," Jack continued, picking up speed. "Maybe we're supposed to know each other for a reason. I mean, come on. Our lives are weird as _hell_. But an angel, a human, an alien, and an immortal man? That's weirder than anything I've done, _ever_. And that includes that three-headed slug lady on Raëknar."

He wiggled his eyebrows at them, flirtatious twinkle back in his eye. "For future reference: the six-armed races? They're _handsy."_

Cas looked somewhat sick.

"Oi, stoppit!" the Doctor protested. "Angel, remember?"

Then he wished he hadn't said anything because the look on Jack's face frightened him a little.

"That's right!" Jack remembered. "You're probably all chaste and holy and stuff." He grinned cheekily, sliding his arm around the back of Cas's chair. "I could help with that."

Cas stared warily before scooting his chair a good three inches away from the Torchwood agent. "No, thank you," he said politely. "I've seen quite enough iniquity to last a substantial amount of time."

Jack leaned forward, interested. "Do tell."

The Doctor scoffed. "Oh, not you too."

Castiel pouted. "It was Dean's idea."

"Not that this isn't _highly_ entertaining," Sherlock interrupted, his tone suggesting that exactly, "But why am I here?"

The other three looked to him. He had, it seemed, laid his head against the wall behind him and closed his eyes, the picture of pure boredom.

Eventually, the Doctor asked, "Why not?"

Sherlock opened his eyes, staring down his long nose at the gawky man with the impossibly bouncy hair and the pinstripe suit.

"I mean," the Doctor continued hurriedly, as if it was the most important thing in the world to keep Sherlock's attention, "You can't tell me it doesn't interest your big old genius brain, Sherlock Holmes, coz I know it does. An alien, an angel, and the immortal man, and they're all ready and willing to settle down and have a pint and talk. Imagine what you'll _learn._"

The detective sat up a little straighter and lifted his head from the wall slowly. "I'm listening."

The Doctor smiled to himself. _Gotcha._ "What I'm saying, Sherlock, is your universe just got a whole lot bigger." He studied the other three men.

"Aliens? Angels? This is stuff you've never even dreamed of, Mr. Holmes. And that interests you more than anything else in the world, because you've dreamed of _everything_."

The geniuses met eyes, and thousands of thoughts read back and forth. No one else could have followed their silent conversation, but everything the brown eyes said the blue understood.

"So," the alien broke into the silence, "What I'm trying to say is, are you in?"

Sherlock Holmes smiled, really smiled, for the first time since they'd seen him.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world."

The Doctor looked to Jack, whose eye twitched in a wink. Then to Castiel, who nodded solemnly.

"Well, then," he grinned, perfect teeth flashing in the low light. "Let's have some fun, shall we? Allons-y!"

.


	3. Chapter 3

Captain Jack Harkness is eating lunch with his team when he gets a text.

**Sherlock Holmes:**

**Got one for you. 300 Waterloo. I think you'll be interested.**

**SH**

**Sent at 12:17 PM**

"Hey, guys," Jack calls to his scattered team, standing up from his seat. "We've got one."

They look on curiously, but follow him to the vans.

Sherlock's right, it is an interesting case.

And if Gwen notices that Jack meets the eyes of a dark-haired stranger and nods his thanks, she doesn't mention it to anyone.

.

"So," John says, sitting in his usual chair across from Sherlock, who has his knees up to his chest, enveloped in his coat and his thoughts.

Sherlock's eyes flicker to him irritably before zoning out again, so John knows he's listening.

"Why didn't you take the case?"

He almost thinks Sherlock is ignoring him, but the man eventually mutters, "Wasn't my area," half to himself so that John barely hears.

The army doctor is befuddled. "Wasn't—what?"

"Wasn't my area," Sherlock enunciates, annoyance clear. "Honestly, John, are you quite deaf?"

The detective finally gets up and throws his coat on the hanger deftly. They've been home for more than an hour, but John doesn't point that out.

"But you've never turned down a case like that! It was actually _interesting_!"

Silence. Apparently John's confusion is beneath him.

He tries another tactic—the sociopath's immeasurable pride.

"Are you actually saying you turned down a huge job because you thought someone else could do it better?" he asked in fake astonishment.

Sherlock turns to him exasperatedly. "Yes, John. I did not take the case because there is someone more capable of, as you say, _handling it_," he explains as if to a small child. "Now will you please wrap your head around this so we can move on?"

Storming up to his room, the last thing John hears from Sherlock is a huff of _honestly._

John stares after the detective, bewildered.

"Who are you and what have you done with Sherlock Holmes?" he asks the empty air.

Thankfully, it doesn't reply.

.

**CASTIEL:**

sos. what is hairy potter.? i dont understand the importance of poorly shaven clayworkers to modern culture

**CAPN JACK ;) :**

LOLOL XP

**THE DOCTOR:**

It's Harry Potter, mate. Book series that were made into movies. They're brilliant! :)

**SHERLOCK HOLMES:**

Never read them. Boring.

**THE DOCTOR:**

Ughhh, this canNOT go on. We are having a movie night.

**SHERLOCK HOLMES:**

Oh dear.

**CASTIEL:**

but what is it?

**CAPN JACK ;) :**

Abt a boy named harry potter who finds out hes a wizard, goes 2 a school called Hogwarts 2 learn abt witchcraft and wizardry and whatnot

**CASTIEL:**

Witchcraft? don't know if i approve, have yet to meet a good witch

**THE DOCTOR:**

Yeah, we're definitely watching Harry Potter.

And the Wizard of Oz, come to think of it.

**CASTIEL: **

what is an oz?

**THE DOCTOR: **

errr nevermind

**CAPN JACK ;) :**

Just 4get abt it, cas, takes wayyy 2 long 2 explain

**CASTIEL:**

but it has wizards too? what is it with humanitys fascination with black magic, honestly

**SHERLOCK HOLMES:**

Quite.

**CAPN JACK ;) :**

oh r u talking 2 us now?

**SHERLOCK HOLMES:**

Oh, shut up, Jack.

**CAPN JACK ;) :**

boo, you whore

**THE DOCTOR: **

Oh, that's riiiiiiiiich coming from you, the bloody intergalactic man-whore!

**CASTIEL:**

jack you work in a den of iniquity?

**CAPN JACK ;) :**

I don't have 2 put up w/ u people; voldemort out bitchezzzzzz

**THE DOCTOR:**

?

**SHERLOCK HOLMES:**

…

**CASTIEL:**

voldemort?

**THE DOCTOR:**

All in good time, Cas.

**SHERLOCK HOLMES:**

You're all quite mad.

**THE DOCTOR:**

You're just getting there now?

.

"Cas, are you _texting?_"

The angel in question looks up from his phone, slightly confused but grinning. "Yes, Dean. I am texting."

He goes back to his phone.

Dean is gawking. "_You_ know how to text?"

Cas rolls his eyes. "I'm an angel, Dean, not an idiot."

"B-but-but-" Dean splutters. Sam looks on amusedly. "But what happened to '_the voice says I'm almost out of minutes, Dean!'_?"

Cas looks at him patronizingly, the bastard. "Dean, cellular telephones are not incredibly hard to understand. I can teach you how to operate yours if you would like."

Dean is at a loss for words. His brother is in hysterics.

Dean scowls. "Not funny, Sam."

Sam begs to differ. "You-your face!" he gasps. "You're, like, offended that someone besides you knows how to be a backsassing little bitch!"

He thinks about what he'd just said. "I mean, no offense, Cas."

"None taken," Castiel replies, already back to looking at his phone. "I'm happy you think so."

Dean chokes. "Seriously, are you getting lessons from Gabriel or something?" His eyes widen as he considers this. "Oh, please don't say you're getting lessons from Gabe. _That_ would be the apocalypse."

Cas has to agree with him there.

.

The Doctor laughs to himself again, apparently reading another text. Martha looks on somewhat concernedly. Not only has she never seen him use a mobile, the laughing is a bit strange, too.

"Doctor?"

No answer.

"Doctor? Everything alright?"

His head snaps up. "Huh? Oh, Martha. Yes. Hello."

"Everything alright, Doctor?" she repeats.

"Yes, of course!" he replies instantly, wearing his blank I-don't-really-understand-why-you're-worried-face. Then he blinks, and his eyes flit away, and she knows him well enough that that's actually his I'm-pretending-I-don't-know-why-you're-worried-but -I'm-really-lying-because-I'm-trying-to-keep-a-sec ret face.

She decides not to pry.

"So…" Martha tries. "Where to today?"

His face lights up. "Weeeeell, I was thinking the Renaissance. Or Space Florida, that's always fun." He sends her a toothy grin that makes her heart swell.

"Wherever you want to go is fine by me, Doctor," she says with a smile. He nods energetically and runs off to the TARDIS console, pushing buttons and levers and knobs with vigor.

Martha follows at a slower pace, smiling benevolently, like a mother watching her child play. She can't help but think that it's been at least a month since she's caught him wearing his Rose Face.

She'd learned to recognize it after a few weeks with him. That soft-eyed, lost-puppy look that kept sneaking onto his face, and she knows she's done something Rose did once, or that the TARDIS offered her clothing that Rose might've worn, or that she responded to his questions in a Rose-like fashion. Or maybe it's not even her at all and he's just staring at his old TARDIS console and remembering.

It hurts, that face. That look that he would get so often, the one that reminds her that she'll never be good enough because she's Martha Jones and she'll never be Rose Tyler.

Sometimes she thinks she'd like to be Rose, but Rose is stuck in a parallel universe and not with the Doctor, so she decides that maybe it's better to just stay Martha.

So whatever the unexplained reason, she's happy that he's happy, and that The Face is gone.

The Doctor chooses Space Florida. And he's right—it really is fun.

.

It's Saturday night again, a month after they've met, and they're back in their usual pub.

The Doctor is busy regaling them of an adventure with Martha, a planet in the year 2 billion and six whose inhabitants had striped skin and spoke only in limericks. Jack, ever the dirty-minded one, is in hysterics at the interesting rhyme choice of a particular street vendor, and even Sherlock has managed a smile. Castiel is still more or less confused, but he seems content.

As Cas and the Doctor reminisced together about their time in ancient Sumer, much to Sherlock's disdain, Jack watches his friends thoughtfully. He knew he was damn lucky to have them, and was happier than anything that they'd come together. As strange as they were, they were strong together, and built off of each other's ideas and needs.

They were among the most emotionally scarred people on the planet, and that wasn't even including their separate groups of friends. Some of them sounded like the most messed up people Jack had heard of in his three hundred years on earth, yet they managed to be the strongest people on the planet.

People were funny like that. Even the antisocial ones like Sherlock needed someone, no matter how much they tried to deny it.

So there was him. Captain Jack Harkness, abandoned by the two people he cared for the most, stuck in the unforgiving loop of immortality. Forced to watch the people he loved grow old and die without him over and over again.

Sherlock. Shunned by the world because of his genius, completely emotionally withdrawn from years of hatred and contempt from others, unable and completely unwilling to form any positive relationships for fear of being seen as a freak.

Castiel, following orders because it was ingrained in his very nature, breaking away from everything he had ever known for a confusing world where everything is about making your own choices.

And the Doctor, forced to choose between his entire race and the rest of existence, barely stopping to breathe in his desperate flee from the ashes of Gallifrey in his past, finding some friends but losing twice as many.

They were possibly some of the most broken people in the history of the universe, yet they had managed to both find and need each other.

Maybe, Jack surmised, that was the reason why.

**.**

**CASTIEL:**

i still don't understand

**SHERLOCK HOLMES:**

Oh dear Lord.

**CAPN JACK ;) :**

sigh

**THE DOCTOR:**

What, Cas?

**CASTIEL:**

what exactly IS the function of a rubber duck?

.

_Sorry if this seems shorter than usual, since it's pretty much a filler chapter, but I hope you're all enjoying it so far! If you've got anything you'd really, really like to see happen in upcoming chapters (there will be 7), leave it in a review or a PM and I'll see what I can do! I love hearing people's ideas, especially about these four fine gentlemen._

_Thanks for reading! _


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